


Fateful Consequences For Everybody

by Accidental_Intentions (orphan_account)



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Begging, Dictatorship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Might Seem Preachy, Satire, Science Fiction, Silly, Social Issues, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-13 04:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Accidental_Intentions
Summary: Lindsay Bluth is the leader/puppet figure for a dystopian version of North America, but things aren't going as perfectly as the public is told to believe.





	1. This Is The Story

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, you guys like AU's? I'll give you an AU big time. Basically, this is what happens when I'm trying to come up with fic ideas while reading dystopian literature. That being said, however, I've tried to make this as fun as possible to read. So, even the dark stuff is not without humor. Also, explicit sex.
> 
> (NOTE: This work is still unfinished, so I'll be posting each chapter when I'm done writing and editing. Thank you for your patience.)

Lindsay Bluth's political career was far more successful than anyone could have hoped, but that was far from the whole story. After the three countries of the North American continent joined together as part of a corporate merger, the political disaster with the border wall was no longer an issue. The Sitwell and Bluth Austero Companies, now federalized, showed The Government how Lindsay's activism experience made her the perfect puppet figure -- or, as the public knew her, Supreme Minister Bluth. 

The National Informer showed a beautiful, smiling Supreme Minister waving at cheering crowds of industry workers, soldiers, and regular citizens. Stories of selflessness and heroism filled the pages, though whether these stories were accurate was not a preferred matter for discussion. Neither was just how much of the country the Bluth, Austero, and Sitwell families controlled behind the scenes, especially given their seeming inability to agree on anything.

Michael Bluth was the actual person in charge, but it was more of an advisory position than one of leadership. It wasn't often that people would take his advice seriously, a situation that already made him feel right at home. 

"So," Michael said behind his desk of laser-hewn recycled redwood. "How did you two manage to get arrested for..." He paused to look down at a sheet of paper. "Ah yes, 'immoral conduct.' Of course." He looked back up. "Not that I'm surprised or anything."

Gob Bluth and Tony Wonder were seated across Michael's desk in chairs, looking at each other to see who would speak first.

"Look, guys." Michael stood up from his chair and paced in an authoritative fashion. Behind him was a giant flat monitor used for visual presentations, as most people in Government weren't too keen on reading. "The last thing we need," he said, "is another scandal. Do you have any idea how resourceful some of these so-called independent journalists are with their smuggled technology? There's a reason the nation of Newport has its own Internet, you know."

Michael paused to look outside of his window at yet another military parade and shook his head. He really had to speak to the Financial Ministry about his late mother's ideas for expenditures. Meanwhile, Gob and Tony both looked downcast, like two children caught skipping Informational Training to go play in the ruins.

"Gee, Mike," Gob said. "I didn't think the lifestyle laws applied to Bluth family members."

"No," Michael said, "but you did almost put Mister Wonder in danger." He crossed his arms and looked at Gob. "He could have been executed."

"Well," Gob said, "w-why do we... do we even have these laws in the first place? I mean, come on!"

Tony bit his lip, showing that he was trying to remain quiet. He seemed to have something to say, but he had to be on his best behavior if he wanted to prove his loyalty.

Michael, still behind his desk, sighed at the two of them. "Well," he said in his usual condescending tone, "in case you two ever decide to remember recent history, the idea of a morality code started as a political promise. Lindsay's team knew how to appeal to the most easily swayed citizens because of their experience in marketing."

"What," Gob said, "is that like shopping or something?"

Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately," he continued, "those same citizens threatened to take up arms and overthrow us if we didn't enforce the law. And we hadn't finished updating our military needs. So," he said, looking back at Gob and Tony. "here we are, and here you two are. And, Gob?" Michael turned to him. "Just in case you're on those Forget-Me-Nows again, I'd like to remind you that this isn't the first time this has happened."

"Wow," said Gob, "so, the trick is to appeal to stupid people?" His eyes filled with mischief. "That's pretty clever."

"Yeah, it is." Tony decided to speak. "I mean, I guess it is."

"You think we could do that for a magic act?" Gob said to Tony.

"I thought you two were through with your tricks," Michael said. "Besides, we have better people in charge of fooling the public. You guys are just making it harder for them." Michael sat back down. "Anyway, all I'm saying is that you guys are going to have to commit your acts within a confined area."

"That sounds like a boring place for a magic show," said Gob.

"I mean your sex acts," said Michael. "In fact, there's a special hidden therapeutic facility that Tobias had built, though I'll admit that his definition of 'therapy' is sometimes questionable." Michael shuddered. "It's not a place that would make me feel better, I know that. But, you guys might enjoy it."

"Is this conversion therapy?" Tony asked. 

"No," Michael said, "that's for citizens who can get an appeal for amnesty. This..." Michael shrugged. "Well, Tobias calls it, 'fun' therapy..."

"'Fun therapy'?" Gob said. "Well, what are we waiting for? Give us the referral, brother!"

"Are you sure about this?" Michael turned to Tony. "What about you? Do you like this idea?"

"Sure!" Tony was, indeed, equal in his enthusiasm. "I mean, I don't know what's fun about therapy. Sounds like a relaxing getaway to me."

"So," Michael said, "you two feel..."

"Same!" Gob and Tony spoke in unison.

"Okay then, let me just get these printed." Michael fired up his paperwork generator, took two identical forms out of the tray, and handed one to each of them. "Have fun, guys," he said, giving them the papers with a pen for each. "Fun therapy, at least, whatever that is. They barely tell me anything here, so I can only hope it doesn't kill you."

"I appreciate that, Mike," said Gob. "And don't worry."

"Don't tell me not to worry, Gob," said Michael, leaning back in exhaustion. "Whenever you say that, I end up with more reasons to do it than I could even imagine. Even these days, where Buster's the head of defense." Michael turned his weary head towards the window. "This country doesn't stand a chance, guys. Not a single one."


	2. Meanwhile, Somewhere In the Capitol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, this is where things start getting explicit. You have been warned.

Supreme Minister Lindsay Bluth's hair and makeup took longer than it did in her fledgling days, especially when it was time to get on camera and give the Morning Address. The lighting had to be perfect as well, along with focus adjustments if those were necessary. Sometimes she wouldn't have time to recover from another face lift, so a good deal of patchwork had to be done before the green light turned on.

"Good morning, people of Newport!" She said across the airwaves. "My, but it's a nice day, isn't it?" She paused to bare her teeth in a half smile that she was still trying to turn into a whole one. "Anyway, the following national update is... as follows." She cleared her throat. "First of all, the issue with the Veal family's protest against pornography provisions has been dealt with, and I can assure you that What's-Her-Name won't be bothering anyone with her stories about a higher power than us. Also, the stories of Infotech Minister George Michael Bluth somehow being upset about how we handled it are also false."

In the middle of Informer Square, urban citizens watching the giant monitor kept silent so as not to have their opinions recorded. Interrogation Minister Argyle Austero was not a figure whose special attention they wanted, as he was known to be quite creative with his methods against dissenters.

"Also," said the Supreme Minister, "those who may be wondering about Gob Bluth not having a position in government need not worry, as we can assure you that he will continue not to have any whatsoever."

A collective sigh of relief emerged from the crowd.

"Now," the Supreme Minister said before being interrupted. "Hold on, I'm getting an update." She put her finger to her ear. "Why, what -- oh my God, that little bitch!" She looked back at the camera. "Sorry, folks." She said. "Anyway, I just received word that, um, a troublesome slanderer has implicated Gob Bluth in some immoral conduct. Again." She rolled her eyes. "So," she continued, "I would like to take the time to remind this slanderer of ours that we know who you are, young lady, and this underground side job of yours is no way to get back at us. So, stop it!"

The crowd looked confused.

"Well," Supreme Minister Bluth said, "I'm afraid I'll have to cut this address short. Have a great day, everybody, and don't forget that hard work and loyalty lead to great rewards. Bye!"

When the screens in Newport cut to blue, followed by another rerun of _Wrench_ , Lindsay Bluth took stood up, took out her earpiece, and threw it down on the floor. "Maeby, you _bitch!"_ She picked up a handful of papers and threw them against the wall behind her. "What am I going to do about her??"

"Maeby?" Sally Sitwell lay naked on a Japanese mattress, filing her nails. "Sounds tricky. She's must smarter than Gob, that's for sure."

"That's not saying much." Lindsay Bluth pouted and slouched her way onto the floor next to Sally. Lindsay's mood seemed to improve right away. "Anyway," Lindsay said, running her manicured hand through Sally's hair. "How are you doing, babe? Did Miss Sitwell sleep well?"

"Sort of." Sally put down her crushed diamond emery board. "I was thinking a lot last night," she said. "Why don't we follow the same rules as everybody else?"

"Why should we?" Lindsay answered with a shrug. "It's always been that way, hasn't it? Besides," she said, "if we allowed homosexuality among the masses, we wouldn't breed as many workers and soldiers. And we need those people."

"I guess that makes sense," said Sally. "Meanwhile, what about us? What do we do?"

Lindsay lifted an eyebrow and unbuttoned her blouse. "What do you think we do?" She said. While removing her blouse and going for the hooks in her bra, Lindsay added, "We do what we want, like always."

"Like always." Sally echoed, lying on her back. She lifted the covers to expose her naked body. "My tan lines aren't too distracting, are they?" She said.

"It's not those that are distracting, babe." Lindsay took off her skirt and panties, but left her heels on. "How do I look?"

"Like a _goddess,"_ said Sally. "Those surgeons really know what they're doing, don't they?"

"I'd have them erased if they screwed up this body." She put her hands on her hips. "Now that Mom's gone, I feel so much more confident!"

"Was she erased, too?" Sally asked.

"Nah," said Lindsay, "just liver damage that led to some kind of cancer or whatever."

Still naked and in her heels, Lindsay crouched down on the mattress and massaged Sally's left breast with her hand. Sally put her head back and opened her legs just enough to expose her inner labia. Lindsay let go of Sally's breast and used the same hand to put two fingers inside of her partner.

"Oooh!" Sally's high, feminine voice made her moans so much sweeter. "Oh, yes!" She raised her head again as Lindsay's thumb found her clitoris. As Lindsay began to tease every nerve ending that she knew existed, Sally's juices flowed and glistened under the artificial light like a sunlit stream. Sally's head fell back again as she continued to vocalize her satisfaction.

"You like that, don't you, slut?" Lindsay curled her lips into a teasing snarl. "Your pussy still gets this wet, huh? Mmmm, I can feel you gushing and trembling already."

"Yes!" Sally's tanned hips were grinding. "Please, Supreme Minister, I need it now!"

"You want me to fuck you now?" Lindsay put a third finger inside of Sally and worked her g-spot. "How's this?"

"Oh God, I'm cumming!" Sally's body convulsed. "YES!" She ejaculated onto the mattress. "Oh," she said, "please do it!"

Lindsay took her fingers out and looked around until she found a black strap-on. Wrapping and buckling the device around her hips and pelvis, she gave Sally a wicked smile. "Beg for it."

"Oh yes," Sally said, "give it to me!"

"You like serving your country, don't you?" Lindsay said.

"Oh, yes, I do!" Sally spread her legs up and out. "Look how much I love it." Her ass, thighs, and cunt were soaked with hot juices. "You know I belong to you."

"Yes, you do." Lindsay took Sally's legs into her arms and mounted her. "And don't you forget it." She shoved the dildo all the way into Sally. "How's that? Better than Tony?"

"Oh yes, so much better!" Sally cried out. "So deep..."

Lindsay began to thrust in and out of Sally, plowing her deep into the mattress and making her scream and splash without a bit of restraint. "You're my slave, bitch!" Lindsay slammed with violence, making herself sweat with the effort. "Oh yes, I'm the fucking QUEEN!"

"I'm sorry, what did you call me?" A voice said behind Lindsay. "I mean... oh! I see you're busy."

"No, it's okay, Tobias." Lindsay stopped and pulled out, leaving Sally visibly annoyed. "But it had better be important."

"Well," Tobias said, "I mean, you might as well, given the situation at hand."

"What situation?" Lindsay unfastened the strap-on and started getting dressed. "Hold on, babe," she said to Sally. "Important business and everything."

"I understand." Sally sat back up. "Guess I need a shower now. How's the water quality?"

"Pretty okay as long as you don't drink it." Lindsay found her bra and panties. "God, why did I keep these heels on? They're _killing_ me!"

Lindsay and Tobias stepped into the office next door. Lindsay sat down behind her redwood desk while Tobias remained standing.

"So," she said, "what's so damned important, anyway?"

"Well," Tobias said, still visibly uncomfortable. "You see, I've been sent an assignment that... well, I don't know about this. I'm afraid I can't administer the therapy this time because..."

"You mean with Gob and Tony Wonder?" Lindsay checked her hair in a hand mirror.

"Yeah, them." Tobias looked everywhere but directly at Lindsay. "Remember the last time I administered the fun therapy myself?"

"Oh yeah, that." Lindsay put down the mirror. "Well, I'm sure the equipment is up to code now. There shouldn't be any severe burns from it."

"I still don't trust it." Tobias shrugged. "Honestly, I think I may have made a huge mistake in using it in the first place."

"Why did you use it?" Lindsay asked.

Tobias blushed. "Well, it seemed okay when I tried it."

"On _yourself??"_ Lindsay almost stood up.

"Oops," said Tobias, "didn't mean to let _that_ boner slip out of me, ha ha!"

"Look," said Lindsay, "just make sure that whoever administers the therapy knows what the hell they're doing. I don't care who it is. Now," she said, "get lost, will you?"

As Tobias left, Lindsay looked at her reflection in the hand mirror again. "This was Mom's haircut, wasn't it?" She said to herself. Indeed, it was.


	3. The Mistakes Continue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Slightly) less insane than the last chapter.

Buster Bluth marched into Michael's office in full military uniform and saluted. "Here to be of service, sir!" He said.

"I'm your brother," Michael said. "We don't need formalities."

"Okay." Buster lowered his hand. "Chicken boy."

"Close the door and have a seat," said Michael. "This is pretty important."

Buster pouted, shut the door, and went over to one of the chairs to sit down. He was facing away from him, childlike as usual.

"Buster, listen." Michael sat back at his desk and folded his hands in front of him. "I've been informed of your repeated activities with the technology that's supposed to be used by soldiers."

"Well, I _am_ a soldier, Michael," Buster said as if to taunt him.

"Yes, I realize that," Michael said, "but those controllers that you play with..."

"Oh yeah, that's _fun!"_ Buster clapped his hands. "That video game, it's like, 'Boom! Boom! Boom!" He made gun shapes with his fingers and waved them back and forth. "Coolest thing ever."

"Buster!" Michael's frustration was audible now. "Those are _drone controllers,_ Buster, not a video game! You just took out _several cities,_ many of them _allies!"_

"So?" Buster shrugged. "I knew that. Still fun, though."

Michael let out a tearful sigh and buried his face in his hands. "Do you _realize_ how many people you killed?"

"Isn't that what we're supposed to do?" Said Buster. "I'd say I racked up pretty good numbers. You should be proud of me."

Michael shook his head, reached for his victory flask, and unscrewed the cap. "What am I going to do with you guys?" He took a mighty swig from the flask and screwed the cap back on. "God, I hate this job."

"Well," said Buster, "technically, Michael, you don't have a title or anything. Nobody knows it's you making the decisions."

"You mean trying to make the decisions." Michael tried pinching a headache out of the bridge of his nose.

"Well, maybe you're just a little stressed," said Buster.

Michael looked up at Buster and said, "You think?"

"Why don't you take a break or something?" Buster said. "I heard Tobias has this new kind of therapy..."

"Nope!" Michael shrunk back with his hands up. "Nope, nope, nope. Don't need any fun therapy. I'm fine."

"Fun therapy?" Buster perked up. "Hey, maybe I should try..."

"No, don't!" Michael waved his hands in front of him. "Don't do it, Buster. People have ended up dead or crippled for life."

"Well, I'm already crippled anyway." Buster pointed to his prosthetic hand, an improved robotic model with a GPS tracker in case he got lost somewhere.

"Still a bad idea," said Michael. "Worse, actually."

"So, you're saying I can't have fun therapy or play with the big video game?" Buster sulked. "You're so boring, Michael."

Just then, Michael Bluth received a call about someone else outside. "Oh, swell!" He seemed happier now. "Tell him to come right in."

"Does this mean I can go?" Said Buster.

"No, not yet." Michael sat back. "I think I should keep an eye on you for a minute -- hey!"

Michael stood up and walked over to greet his son, George Michael, at the door with a pat on the shoulder. After not having seen him for a while, Michael looked startled at just how much the job of Infotech Minister had aged the boy.

"Dad," said George Michael, "we need to talk."

"Sure, what about?" Michael said.

George Michael looked over at where Buster was sitting. "Does... he have to hear us?"

Michael sighed. "Okay, Buster, you can go."

"Yaaay!" Buster jumped out of his seat and headed for the door. "Video game time!"

"Buster, don't--!" Michael tried to catch his younger brother, but, as usual, he was already too far gone.

"Great." Michael closed the door. "Anyway, buddy, have a seat!"

George Michael, in an even more sad and nervous state than usual, crept over to the chair where Buster had been and sat down. Not surprisingly, he wasn't yet ready to make full eye contact either.

"So," said Michael, sitting back down. "How's my computer genius doing, huh? Must be really, um, technological down there."

"There's been a breach," said George Michael, still not looking up at his father.

Michael looked away. "Great." He looked back at his son. "Well, I'm sure you'll find who's responsible."

George Michael's eyes shifted.

"You okay there, buddy?" Michael said. "Hey, if you want, we can go virtual fishing later at the Nostalgia Center--"

"What did you do to Ann??" George Michael shot a look at his father. "You make the decisions, right? What did you do??"

"Hey, slow down!" Michael Bluth put up his hands, then let his own eyes shift. "Um," he said, "who's Ann?"

"Ann Veal, dad!" George Michael said. "She and her family have disappeared, and I know you had something to do with it!"

Michael tried to look innocent. "Look, I..."

George Michael jumped over his father's desk, grabbed him by the lapels, and shook him. "Tell me the truth, dad!" He said. "You had them disappeared, didn't you??"

"George Michael, I..."

Michael Bluth was unable to finish his sentence, as his son, George Michael, struck him across the face and knocked him down. Looking up, he saw his son hovering over him with a look in his eye that he would have normally seen in one of his brothers.

"Tell...me...the TRUTH!" George Michael insisted, placing a foot on his father's ribcage and pressing down hard.

_"I don't..."_ Michael tried to speak. _"George Michael... air!"_

"Oh." George Michael took his foot off of his father's chest, walked back around the desk where he was before, and sat down again. "Sorry, dad, I guess I got carried away."

"It's okay, son!" Michael pulled himself up from the floor, his breath heavy. He leaned against the desk and said, "Got that old Bluth family spirit, I see."

"Dad, I'm serious!" George Michael stood up again. "Where's--?"

"Whoa!" Michael stepped back and put his hands in front of him, still panting. "You, um..." He put his hand to his chest and used the other hand to point into the air. "One minute..."

George Michael sighed and sat back down with his arms folded.

"Okay, ha ha!" Michael stood up straight, his hand against his head for balance. "Now then..." He sat back down. "Um... what were we talking about?"

"About Ann!" George Michael almost stood up again.

"Oh, right! Right..." Michael said. "Well, you see, um..." He put his fingers together. "The truth is... I don't know what happened."

"What??" George Michael stood up again.

"Hey, hey, take it easy!" Michael said. "Look, I mean that it's not really that simple. You see, things like this have to go through a very elaborate bureaucratic process."

"What does that mean?" George Michael said.

"It means..." Michael shrugged. "It means I... have no idea. No, really, I have no idea what happened to them. You'll have to ask the--"

"Oh my God, dad!" George Michael threw up his hands and sat back down. "What kind of country is this, anyway??"

"I've been wondering that myself," said Michael Bluth. "I don't think anyone really knows. I mean..." He looked out the window again. "We try to make it look like we know what we're doing, but..."

"But you have no idea?" George Michael said.

Michael shook his head. "Nope. No clue." He looked back at his son. "You know what you're doing though, right?"

George Michael sat up, looking calmer than ever despite not making eye contact again.

"Yes, dad." He raised his eyebrows. "Yes, I do."


End file.
